


masked feelings

by ichigoday



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Getting Together, Kissing, M/M, Valentine's Day, Valentine's Day Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-15 02:33:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29677047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ichigoday/pseuds/ichigoday
Summary: “The fans would probably be better off giving Sakusa hand sanitizer or something,” Barnes jokes.Atsumu’s ears perk up. Barnes was only kidding, but knowing Kiyoomi, he probablywouldbe more open to receiving sanitizer than chocolates or flowers. Except, Kiyoomi being Kiyoomi, buys his sanitizer in bulk—Atsumu’s seen the bottles lining the shelf in his locker, next to his box of surgical masks.Masks.Kiyoomi goes through at least two a day; he wears one on his way to practice and another one when he leaves, so even though he buys them in packs of fifty, he goes through them fairly quickly. Atsumu pulls out his phone again and sends one more text to Osamu.Tsumu:can ya teach me how to sew?Valentine's Day sneaks up on Atsumu and instead of giving the typical chocolate and flowers, he gets the idea to make Kiyoomi a mask instead.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 13
Kudos: 319
Collections: SakuAtsu Fluff Week 2021





	masked feelings

**Author's Note:**

> this happens after [made ya laugh](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29088828) but can be read as a standalone!
> 
> fluff week is technically over, but i'm gonna post this as a late submission for day 10 (free day) :3

“Gather round, everyone!” Meian barks. He waits for the team to crowd around him. “Our next fan meet is scheduled for the 14th. Everyone’s required t’ be there, unless yer on yer death bed. No ifs, ands, or buts.”

Atsumu anticipates Kiyoomi’s quiet grunt of disapproval, his standard reaction to anything involving the fans. What Atsumu doesn’t expect, though, is the collective groan from the rest of the team this time, echoing Kiyoomi’s sentiment when they’re usually jumping at the chance to greet their fans.

“I was gonna go back to Tokyo for the weekend and surprise Akaashi,” Bokuto whines.

“And I was gonna go with him to surprise Kageyama,” Hinata adds mournfully.

“Too bad,” Meian retorts. “Ask ‘em to come to Osaka instead. I’m missin’ out on date night with the missus too. We all gotta make sacrifices.”

Atsumu’s eyes widen in alarm. _Oh fuck_ , he curses to himself. Since he came to terms with his feelings for a certain sulky, curly-haired wing spiker standing next to him, it had been occupying his mind 24/7, and the fact that Valentine’s Day was in two weeks completely slipped his mind. He subtly turns his body to the side and pulls his phone out from his pocket to type out a frantic text to Osamu.

 **Tsumu:** dude valnetins day is in two weeks???

 **Samu:** yeah? and?

 **Tsumu:** i wanna get somehitng for omi-kun but idk whta

 **Samu:** not my problem

 **Tsumu:** samuuu hel pme pleaaase🙏🙏🙏 i’m comin to the shop after practice

“The fans will be bringing gifts, I assume?” The displeasure is evident in Kiyoomi’s eyes.

“It’s Valentine’s Day, Sakusa-kun.” Meian offers an apologetic smile. “We can get the staff to hand out wipes and sanitizer to the fans before they come in. We’ll ask them to wipe the gifts too.”

Kiyoomi lets out a weary sigh from behind his mask. Disinfecting the outside of the gifts is only part of the problem, though he doesn’t have it in him to argue with his captain right now. Valentine’s Day means the fans will most likely be bringing homemade chocolates and baked sweets, and the mere thought of eating food prepared by unknown hands—in unknown kitchens—is enough to make Kiyoomi sick to his stomach, not to mention all the hands he’ll have to shake, sanitized or not. He knows what to expect now that he’s done a few fan meets, his well-rehearsed “Thank you for your support” rolling off his tongue like second nature now, but it doesn’t make the constant interaction any easier.

“Sakusa, have you ever even received Valentine’s chocolate before?” Inunaki asks.

“I have,” he says flatly. It’s not a lie; he received chocolates from the managers of his teams all throughout his school years. Granted it was obligatory chocolate, which everyone on the team got, but they don’t need to know that.

“Of course he has,” Thomas says. “Lots of people dig the quiet, brooding type.”

“The fans would probably be better off giving Sakusa hand sanitizer or something,” Barnes jokes.

Atsumu’s ears perk up. Barnes was only kidding, but knowing Kiyoomi, he probably _would_ be more open to receiving sanitizer than chocolate or flowers. Except, Kiyoomi being Kiyoomi, buys his sanitizer in bulk—Atsumu’s seen the bottles lining the shelf in his locker, next to his box of surgical masks.

 _Masks_.

Kiyoomi goes through at least two a day; he wears one on his way to practice and another one when he leaves, so even though he buys them in packs of fifty, he goes through them fairly quickly. 

Atsumu pulls out his phone again and sends one more text to Osamu.

 **Tsumu:** can ya teach me how to sew?

“‘Samu…” Atsumu whines pleadingly. He leans over the counter and gives his brother the best pout and puppy dog eyes he can manage.

“Fuck you, ‘m not givin' ya another onigiri for free. Toro ain’t cheap, y’know?”

“Th-that’s not it!” Atsumu stammers. “You were good at home ec, weren’t ya? Ya gotta help me.”

Osamu makes an exasperated noise as he busies himself with closing up his shop for the day.

“What the hell d’you even need t’ sew for? Yer thighs gettin’ too big for yer shorts again? Just ask Ma t’ fix ‘em next time ya see her.”

“That was one time!” Atsumu blushes furiously at the memory of his shorts tearing at the crotch when he knelt into his signature deep squat to toss the ball during one of their official games. Osamu was never going to let him live it down.

“Then what is it?”

“I-I wanna make somethin’... for Omi-kun,” Atsumu mumbles, his voice trailing off feebly. He immediately regrets the words that came out of his mouth as soon as the slow grin begins to spread on Osamu’s face.

“Oh? Ya wanna make somethin’ f’r yer lil ‘Omi-Omi’?” Osamu teases. “Didn’t know you were such a sap.”

“Shut it, ‘Samu! Forget I asked.” The color in his cheeks makes its way to his ears.

Osamu scrutinizes his brother, uncharacteristically flustered and fidgety. Atsumu had his fair share of crushes when they were students, but none that reduced him to _this_. _Oh, he has it bad._

“Fine, I’ll help ya,” he concedes. “But ya still gotta do most of it yerself, otherwise there’s no point.”

“Yeah, of course!” Atsumu nods vigorously. “I just need ya t’ show me the basics and make sure I don’t fuck up.”

“You owe me fer this,” Osamu mutters, though there’s no bite to his words. He tosses a clean rag at Atsumu. “Help me wipe the tables, and then put the chairs up.”

Atsumu grins and stuffs the last of the onigiri into his mouth before getting to work. He would’ve offered to help whether or not Osamu asked. Since the twins went their separate paths and no longer live together, Onigiri Miya has become a sort of makeshift home for the both of them. (In Osamu’s case, it literally is his home—his apartment is just upstairs from the shop.) Atsumu knows he can always find solace in his brother’s cozy restaurant after a tough day of practice, even with all the squabbling. He even likes helping Osamu close, though he’ll never admit it to his face. Even though it’s not volleyball, there’s still something about working in tandem alongside Osamu in the restaurant that makes him feel like they're teammates again.

They agree to meet up next Sunday, when Onigiri Miya is closed, to go shopping for fabric and supplies. Until then, Atsumu has some researching to do.

At the fabric store, Atsumu buys several sheets of 600-thread count cotton and chiffon, as well as a pack of elastic straps, all in solid black. As a last thought, he also picks up a small spool of honey gold thread. They go back to Osamu’s place initially, since he has sewing supplies on hand, but then Atsumu pricks his finger with the needle less than ten minutes in—“You need yer fingers to set!” Osamu chastises with a panicked look in his eyes—so they end up driving back to their parents’ house in Nishinomiya, where their mother has a sewing machine.

The second they step into their childhood home, Osamu spills the beans about Atsumu’s infatuation to their parents.

“‘Tsumu’s makin’ a Valentine’s gift for a boy he likes!” he gleefully announces.

“‘Samu!”

Their parents have watched all of their major games on TV, if not in person. When Osamu explains that the boy Atsumu has eyes for is the tall outside hitter on his team with curly black hair and two moles on his forehead, they instantly know who it is.

“Oh, Sakusa-kun! Wasn’t he from Itachiyama?” their father muses. “He’s very good. You never won against ‘em in high school, did ya?”

That earns a simultaneous groan from both Atsumu and Osamu.

“Ya didn’t hafta remind us,” Osamu huffs.

Their mother shows Atsumu how to use the sewing machine on scrap pieces of fabric. At first, he struggles with keeping his hands steady, so his stitches veer off to the side and his fabric crumples. He refuses to give up though, and after several attempts, he starts to get the hang of it. When he produces several centimeters of straight stitching for the first time, he nearly yanks the cloth out of the machine out of sheer excitement.

Finally, he cuts out the shapes that he had traced earlier using the pattern he found online, and he gets to work on Kiyoomi’s gift.

* * *

The first group of fans to enter the gymnasium includes a trio of girls who look to be about college age. They make their way down the row of Black Jackals members, who are seated in order of their jersey numbers. As the girls shake their hands, they hand each member a small box of chocolates. When they reach Kiyoomi, however, they don’t shake his hand.

“S-Sakusa-senshu,” the first girl mumbles shyly. “We thought you might not like homemade sweets, so we got you masks instead. We hope you’ll use them.”

They hand him a small lavender-colored pouch cinched at the top with a satiny black ribbon. Attached is a small tag that reads “To: Sakusa-senshu, From: Emi, Mako, and Rina. Happy Valentine’s Day!” in neat handwriting. Kiyoomi’s eyes widen ever so slightly in surprise.

“Thank you,” he says, accepting the gift with a small smile.

All three girls look about seconds from fainting.

“No, thank _you_ ,” one of them blurts out in a rush. “We love you, Sakusa-senshu!”

They step down to shake Hinata’s hand and then scurry off squealing delightedly amongst themselves. (“Sakusa-kun smiled at us! He _smiled_!” “I _know_!” “He’s so pretty!” “Oh my gosh Rina, you said ‘We love you!’ You’re so fucking embarrassing!”)

Atsumu is so engrossed watching the entire interaction unfold that he completely forgets about the fan standing across the table in front of him awaiting his handshake. Internally, he’s squealing along with the girls too. He’s never seen Kiyoomi so expressive and at ease in front of fans before. His smile, though brief, was genuine and so _gentle_.

Fuck. Atsumu wants to be on the receiving end of that smile.

“Um, Miya-senshu?” the woman pipes up.

Atsumu snaps his attention back to the fan and grins sheepishly.

“Sorry ‘bout that. Hiya, what’s yer name?”

“Teruko.”

“Thanks fer comin’ all the way out on Valentine’s Day, Teruko-chan!”

He shakes her hand and signs her Black Jackals jersey that already has the first five members’ signatures in silver Sharpie scattered all over the blank spots. Then he watches as she moves down to shake Kiyoomi’s hand—except she doesn’t either. Instead, she gets him to sign the jersey, and then she bashfully pulls out a maroon paper gift bag.

“Um, this is kind of embarrassing, but I also got you masks, Sakusa-senshu,” she laughs. “I’m sorry. The idea was going around in the Black Jackals’ online fan communities. I hope you don’t mind me not shaking your hand.”

“Not at all,” Kiyoomi says gratefully. “I appreciate it.”

The next fan gives Kiyoomi a pack of wet wipes with a cute plastic cover in the shape of a black cat. As the fan meet goes on, Kiyoomi’s pile of quirky hygienic gifts continues to grow. In addition to more masks and wipes, he also gets a box of strong mints, a travel-sized sticky roller, and a few bottles of hand sanitizer along with keychain holders—one of them is even volleyball patterned. Atsumu tries to ignore the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach as he forces himself to smile and dial up his charm towards the fans. How the hell is he supposed to give Kiyoomi his gift now? He glances up at the clock. There are ten more minutes left in the event. Ten more minutes for Atsumu to come up with a plan B.

In the end, he doesn’t come up with another plan. When the fan meet finally ends, he trudges back to the locker room to change out of his uniform. He attempts to subtly slip the gift from his locker into his backpack, but it doesn’t go unnoticed under Kiyoomi’s observant gaze.

“Did someone put that in your locker?” Kiyoomi asks.

“Huh? Put what?” Atsumu tries to feign ignorance—and fails miserably.

“The gift, Miya,” he says pointedly. “You just put a gift into your backpack.”

Atsumu’s brain shuts down as the panic begins to take over. He opens his mouth but nothing comes out, his mind still scrambling to put together some semblance of an excuse.

“I-I, um-” he sputters helplessly. “I—hey!”

Without warning, Kiyoomi reaches over and plucks the black gift pouch in question from Atsumu’s bag.

“‘To: Omi-kun, From: Atsumu,’” he reads aloud and then breathes out the quietest of sighs. “Miya, were you going to give this to me?”

Atsumu plops down on the bench and groans, covering his reddening face with his hands.

“Yeah,” he mumbles. “I was… but then ya got all those masks from the fans…”

Kiyoomi unravels the gold ribbon tying the pouch closed and pulls out the two hand-sewn cotton masks. They’re solid black, with “SK” embroidered in gold thread in one corner to match the colors of the Black Jackals’ uniform.

“Did you… Did you make these?” Kiyoomi asks incredulously, turning the masks around in his hand. He puts one of them on, and Atsumu is pretty sure his heart is about to explode right out of his chest.

“I did,” he mumbles. “Osamu and my ma helped a bit but it was mostly me.”

“How does it look?” Kiyoomi tilts his head.

“Pretty. I mean—pretty good!” Atsumu stammers. “Good! Fits good!”

Kiyoomi’s soft chuckle is muffled slightly by the mask. He gently unloops it from his ears and tucks it in his pocket.

“Mi—Atsumu?”

“Y-Yeah?” Atsumu feels like his entire body is about to combust. _He called me Atsumu, he called me Atsumu, he called me—_

“I really like it,” Kiyoomi says earnestly. “I’m sorry I don’t have anything to give you in return.”

“It’s ok! I’m sorry fer springin’ a gift on ya so suddenly.”

Kiyoomi joins him on the bench and Atsumu’s brain short circuits for the second time within the span of five minutes when Kiyoomi’s thigh presses against his and warmth starts flooding into his entire body.

Then Kiyoomi leans over and presses a chaste kiss to his lips.

“I hope that’ll do.”

Atsumu blinks dazedly and feels his face become impossibly warmer. He touches a finger to his lips in disbelief.

“O-Omi-kun? Did you just… kiss me? Sorry, I think I just blacked out for a second there.”

Kiyoomi laughs, actually _laughs_ , and Atsumu heart soars.

“Should I do it again?”

“Please,” Atsumu whispers, already leaning in.

Their noses brush as their lips meet once again. Part of Atsumu’s brain still can’t believe that this is happening, that he’s really kissing Sakusa Kiyoomi, his sulky, 192-centimeter curly-haired outside hitter.

So he keeps pressing kiss after kiss to Kiyoomi’s lips, until it feels real.

“Hey, I gotta lock up!” Meian’s voice jolts them from their reverie. Atsumu yelps and jerks back, nearly launching himself off the bench. “Congrats, you two. About damn time.”

As their captain walks away, they hear him chuckling to himself about something that sounds suspiciously like “Barnes and Inunaki owe me 3000 yen.”

**Author's Note:**

> i didn't think i would post another fic for fluff week, but i managed to squeeze this one out! kudos & comments appreciated as always. come yell at me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/ichig0day)!
> 
> also can you believe [volleyball patterned hand sanitizer holders](https://i.etsystatic.com/16919000/d/il/895b91/2442429329/il_340x270.2442429329_1puy.jpg?version=0) actually exist??
> 
> [fic post on twitter](https://twitter.com/ichig0day/status/1364602360094334984?s=20)


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